


We are the (Triwizard) Champions

by Nanimok



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Shenanigans.This time, withmagic.





	We are the (Triwizard) Champions

**Author's Note:**

> It's not finished but I will finish it sometime please bear with me hehe y'all know what scene I really want to write hehehe.
> 
> Written for JayTim Week Day 3 - Fantasy AU.

“Four schools competing, four champions chosen, but Triwizard Tournament?” Cass says, scooping up her breakfast. “Hm. Funny.”

“I read that it was established before any of the schools had contact with Ilvermony,” Stephanie says around her mouthful. “You know how Americans are. Conflict with everybody. Then again, we’re just as bad.”

Tim swallows his bite of toast. “Spite,” he says. “Calling it now. Wouldn’t put it past our Minister to keep it out of spite, but hide it under the guise of ‘tradition.’”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, but the quirk of her mouth betrays her fondness. Beside her, Cass raises her hand for a high five, which Tim very much delivers, standing to reach across the wide table.

“Conspiracy much?” Stephanie asks.

Tim shrugs. “Aliens are real, Steph.”

“That, I don’t doubt. We’re learning _magic_ at _magic-_ school,” Steph says. “Anyway, why did Professor Al Ghul pull you aside this morning? He even lurked in the hallway to catch you. And that’s a lot of effort.”

Tim grimaces. “He wanted to speak to me.”

“Creepy. About?”

Tim gestures to his and Cass’ ties. “Cass and I have to sit at the Slytherin table during breakfast tomorrow. No straying when we’re greeting the other schools.”

“Lame,” Cass says, as she stabs a piece of fruit.

“Super lame,” Steph agrees, pouting at her red and gold tie. She narrows her eyes at Professor Al Ghul at the teachers table. “He didn’t pull Cass up for that. That’s dodgy; he’s always so creepy towards you. God, my fingers are itching to either report him or prank him.”

“It’s fine, Steph,” Tim says. “I think I’m just his favourite student. His favourite student whose brain he wants to dissect. Just Slytherin things, you know.”

“Say the word, Tim. And I’ll prank all the ways to Azkaban and back, on top of siccing _Damian_ on him _.”_

Ah, yes, Tim thinks. Who ever said that Hufflepuff were harmless, cute, cuddly creatures have clearly never encountered Damian. Damian’s glares are legendary.

Tim reaches over to pat her hand, ridiculously touched. “Really, it’s fine. Besides, our efforts are better spent on helping you win the tournament.”

“You really think I’ll be Hogwarts champion?”

“Can’t think of a more suitable champion myself,” Tim says. “Right, Cass?”

Cass nods, and everybody knows that Cass’ word is, ironically for her house colour, as good as gold. Stephanie puffs out her chest a bit, unable to contain her excitement. Tim watches them with a smile.

It’s going to be a busy year, but Tim thinks that it’s definitely going to be a good one.

 

* * *

 

Hogwarts is sprawling, majestic, and gigantic—the biggest building Tim has ever seen—but with three extra schools-worth of teachers and students bustling around, it can get crowded. Which isn’t that big of a problem for Tim; he spent his early years with Steph and Cass practically camping in the hallways and dodging detection in an effort to map the whole building.

He sends a whole-hearted thanks to his past self, and picks the more obscure hallways to his class.

Potions with Professor Al Ghul is his first class of the day. Even though it’s funny to watch visitors get lost as the staircases move from under them, Tim is taking the class one year above his own, and often times, Professor Al Ghul uses him as a pack mule to carry books from the library. The stack that he carries now is taller than Tim, and it’s heavy enough to cause fatal damage. The only reason he’s able to carry it now is because Steph insists on Tim and Cass joining her Quidditch practice

 _Maybe it’ll be heavy enough to snap Professor Al Ghul’s arm off when Tim hands it to him_ , Tim thinks, a bit cheerily. _Wouldn’t he be so lucky_ —

Lost in thought, he doesn’t check the corner and crashes into something solid—possibly a brick wall. That something solid lets out an, ‘ _oof’_ as Tim’s book falls to the ground, and Tim tumbles after. He lands on his butt, rubs it in commiseration, before crawling to begin collecting his books.

There goes his dignity.

To be fair, Tim never has dignity in the mornings.

“Fuck,” the brick wall says. “Shit. I’m so sorry, man. I didn’t see you coming. Here, I’ll help.”

Right, he crashed into somebody. Tim is about to tell him to leave it, and that he prefers to handle it himself, before he looks up and the stocky build, the face, and the streak of white hair registers with in the back of Tim’s mind.

“You’re Jason Peter Todd,” Tim blurts out. “Headmaster Wayne’s son.”

Jason tenses, hands clenching, before his squats down to help Tim with the books.

“I am,” Jason says. “You got a problem with that?”

“No!” Tim replies. “No, I don’t have a problem with that! I’ve—uh—I’ve read a lot about you.”

If anything, that is the worst thing Tim could say in this situation. Jason’s jaw hardens, and his knuckles whiten as he stacks one book on top of another.

“That’s nice. How about you keep your opinions to yourself, yeah?”

Tim shakes his head. “No, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it in the bad way. It’s just—I keep—"

Taking a deep breath, because it seems like Tim can’t talk without putting his foot in his mouth.

“It’s just good, you know,” Tim says. “To see that you haven’t changed that much.”

That causes Jason to bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m still a Dark Lord in the making?”

“That you’re still nice,” Tim says. “That you’re still a noble Gryffindor helping Slytherins off the floor when you bump into them.”

His statement catches off guard. Tim can see the wariness softening from his features.

Jason, finally, looks at him. “We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

Tim waves. “Hi. I’m Tim Drake, the first year you bowled over in your second year.”

“I remember that,” Jason says. “Still as short as I remember.”

“…Thank you?”

“And as green as I remember.”

They both stand, lifting the books off the ground, except Jason keeps rising and rising—wow, he’s a lot taller than Tim remembers—until the top of Tim’s head reaches the bottom of his chin. Tim holds out his arms for the books, but Jason, after tilting his head to consider Tim, shakes his head.

“I’ll help you carry it,” Jason says. “The Potions Room, right?”

Tim nods, and together, they set off to find his classroom.

The thing is, Tim’s always had a bit of an obsession with the Wayne family, in an abstract sort of way. He had been young when he witness the battle between Headmaster Wayne and the Dark Lord Joker, and the show of raw power between the two would be one he would never forget.

Headmaster Wayne was the reason he chose Hogwarts instead of Ilvermony. And that one time Jason walked him to his class after crashing into him—well—

It set off a crush to last the ages. One that strikes as hard as a punch to his guts at how his broad shoulder fills out the Durmstrang uniform.

“You know,” Tim begins, to fill the silence, “There was a protest after your expulsion. Many thought it was unfair.”

The corner of Jason’s mouth twitches. “You’re lucky I’m not as prickly about it as I was a year ago.”

“The protest lasted for more than a month. We,” Tim corrects, bouldering on, “protested until a representative from the Ministry of Magic came and threatened to expel us all. It wasn’t fair that you were punished for something that wasn’t your fault.”

A moment of silence between them as they continue down the hallway.

“It was my hands that set the basilisk loose,” Jason says carefully, like he’s testing Tim.

“It wasn’t your decision or your will to do so,” Tim counters on. “Anyone could have opened the diary and become—”

 _Possessed,_ Tim doesn’t say.

But Jason catches on anyway. “Durmstrang is good,” Jason says. “They’re teaching me more than Bruce ever could. I’m over it. Yup. Water under the bridge and all that.”

He probably isn’t over it—he muttered the last sentence—but Tim has pried enough for today. At that exact moment, they reach his classroom. Tim praises whatever deity for saving him from being a constant human trainwreck.

Maybe it’s because Jason has stacked the book back in his arms, and Tim can’t see him and how he’ll react, but he steels himself to call out to Jason before he leaves.

“Oh, and Jason?” Tim asks. “Welcome back.”

He flees into the classroom straight after.

 

* * *

 

When the time came to choose the champions, Tim and Cass are once again chained to the Slytherin table. Metaphorically, of course, although Tim wouldn’t put it past Professor Al Ghul to literally chain his students if it suited his agenda.

The Great Hall is mired with excited chatter. Durmstrang is a vibrant clutter of red, Beauxbatons, a striking blue, Ilvermony, a knot of red and cranberry, and Hogwarts, a dreary black offsetted by their bright ties. 

In the middle of it all are the Headmasters and the Goblet of Fire.

The hall quietens as Headmaster Wayne stands and announces the champions. The Goblet flickers, a flaming blue that rises almost to the ceiling, before it spits a piece of paper, and Headmaster Wayne’s voice booms through the hall.

Richard Grayson from BeauxBatons. Jason Todd from Durmstrang. Cassie Sandsmark from Ilvermony.

And Stephanie Brown from Hogwarts.

The hall grows raucous each time a name is called and a champion strides forwards. People stomp their feet, clap each other’s back, holler, and more. When Steph’s name is called, the Gryffindor table explodes. Tim and Cass jumps from their seats to applaud Stephanie, and Stephanie grins as she catches sight of them.

Further down the table, bellow the cheers, Tim can hear someone mutter, ‘ _filthy mudbloods.’_

A thud, then a yelp, and Cass slides the tip of her wand back into her sleeve.  Tim cups his hands around his mouth to holler, ‘Go Steph!’ before going back to clapping with a gusto that draws attention towards his enthusiasm.

Across the hall, on the teacher’s table, Professor Al Ghul narrows his eyes at them.

Cass’ and Tim’s smiles are beaming.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently dying at uni but if anyone's interested in having a chat, I can be found here on [my tumblr](http://fatcatsarecats.tumblr.com) and the JayTim Discord chat.


End file.
